Formal acknowledgement by the regional consensus was not bestowed commonly, for its meetings were irregular. Rarer still were conclaves called by the elders to discuss significant matters, even within the local consensus of the Eastern Vale. That the elders visiting for the summer festival had expressly convened to valorise Saphienne was extraordinary, signalling that she was a hero whose deeds were to be remembered — and elven memories were very long indeed.

  Alas, meetings of the consensus had to follow their rules.

  Once Saphienne had been thoroughly applauded, she was seated in a place of honour directly before it. Another chair was placed beside her, and Thessa was given the same treatment when she was brought into the hall, blushing crimson the entire time, more so when she saw Saphienne was joining in with unconcealed glee.

  “…I don’t belong here,” the artist whispered as she sat.

  Saphienne gave her a wry smile. “…Neither do I…”

  Anaeluin called the meeting back to order – just as commanding as when he had once invoked elder prerogative from the mezzanine – then asked Filaurel to read aloud the record of business conducted earlier in the day. The secretary did so with impartial dryness that nevertheless was suffused with relish, articulating that the elders had opened by electing Anaeluin as chair and Helaen as assistant chair, then had unanimously agreed that the girls Saphienne and Thessa were deserving of public acknowledgement for their heroism, and that each should be rewarded in proportion to their bravery. Subsequently, the meeting had debated for the better part of an hour on the wording of the formal motions to recognise each of them, then had discussed several proposals for what would serve as fitting rewards–

  “Thank you, Secretary — that will suffice for now.” He grinned playfully to Saphienne and Thessa. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the anticipation, would we?”

  Gentle laughter rippled around the auditorium.

  “Let us read the first proposed motion–”

  Helaen touched the chair’s elbow; he leant down and listened, then sighed.

  “…My apologies, but the assistant chair has corrected me. Does anyone object to the minutes as recounted, with the exclusion of the omitted content we will shortly be reading?”

  Saphienne crossed her arms and leant back. “Here we go…”

  Sure enough, there was always someone who had to slow everything down. “This is less an objection than a request for clarification …”

  Thessa slowly slumped in her chair.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes of tedious back-and-forth later, Filaurel persuaded the elders that her minutes were accurate and had captured enough detail to stand unamended; Saphienne had gained a new appreciation for her patience by the end.

  At last, Thessa was called to stand.

  “Thessa of the Eastern Vale, daughter to Mathileyn and Athidyn, sister to Iolas,” Anaeluin read aloud. “The consensus of the eastern woodlands acknowledges your selfless bravery during the summer solstice festival. Despite great peril to your own life, and having opportunity to flee, you returned to guide children much younger than yourself away from the dragon that had descended in fiery wrath upon the lake.”

  Saphienne bit her tongue.

  “Where most stood paralysed, you acted. You did so alone and unarmed, risking your eternity to save the eternities of others. The consensus of the eastern woodlands applauds your courage and conviction, that they be emulated across all time to come.” He lowered the page, solemnly casting his gaze across the assembly. “Fellow elders, in keeping with ‘The Rules of Order for Reaching Consensus,’ I propose that this motion be decided by acclaim. Are there any objections?”

  This time, no one dared delay.

  “Then all those in favour, please raise your–”

  Had Saphienne not personally seen there were only two hundred or so people in the room, she would have believed the hall full by the deafening cry that rang out.

  “…I believe that’s unanimous!”

  Raucous applause accompanied Tolduin approaching with a laurel wreath, crowning Thessa as she trembled under scrutiny. When she tried to bow he stopped her — for in this moment, her status exceeded all others in the vale.

  Next came the rewards that had been long deliberated. In due course, the elders voted to grant her priority in requesting whatever she desired from the storehouses for the next ten years, together with the promise of a personal studio once she felt ready, before which she could make use of the crafting hall however she chose — for they awarded Thessa her very own key.

  Sweetest of all? She received a permanent place to exhibit her work in the gallery.

  Thessa was overwhelmed when she sat back down, Saphienne rubbing her back as she struggled to hold her composure. Anaeluin was kind enough to give them a moment together before he called for the meeting to return to order.

  “Saphienne, please rise.”

  Steeling herself for what she intended, Saphienne took the spot before the stage where her friend had stood.

  “Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, daughter to Lynnariel and Delred,” he recited. “In awe of the will of the gods made manifest, the consensus of the eastern woodlands acknowledges your peerless self-sacrifice during the summer solstice festival. Holding no hope for your own survival, you went forth to contest the dread might of the dragon in word and deed, defending those who could not defend themselves. In this you acted far beyond your scant nineteen years–”

  Murmurs from the elders attested to their enduring astonishment.

  “–And exceeded our finest in the Wardens of the Wilds. You stood fast against the dragon’s terror where no one else held firm, refusing to flinch in the face of certain death.” Anaeluin shook his head, unnerved by the events he contemplated. “Through a feat of spellcraft that mystifies our most learned magicians, you duelled and defeated the dragon–”

  Cheers interrupted the chair, and he made no attempt to assert his authority until the crowd had exhausted themselves, subjecting Saphienne to several minutes of excruciating commendation.

  “…The secretary will please minute the duration and character of that interruption…”

  Laughs approved.

  “I will resume reading from the motion,” he continued. “Through a feat of spellcraft that mystifies our most learned magicians, you duelled and defeated the dragon that had attacked the Eastern Vale–”

  Saphienne raised her hand. “Point of order.”

  Anaeluin paused his reading with eyebrows raised. “…The chair recognises–”

  Another interjection – from the assistant chair – saw him listen attentively, their ensuing conversation low, urgent, and exasperated in equal measure.

  “…My apologies for the delay.” He spoke not to Saphienne, but to his peers. “For the sake of expediency, I hereby propose temporarily suspending the section of the rules that restricts who may raise a valid point of order. Does anyone have meaningful reason to object to this proposal?”

  Somewhere behind Saphienne, hisses conveyed that someone had been about to, and was being encouraged to reconsider.

  “No? Then I ask all those in favour to please raise their hands.” He smiled as he studied the scene before him. “That appears to be overwhelmingly carried — the chair recognises a point of order from Saphienne of the Eastern Vale.”

  Saphienne bowed. “May it please our consensus to know that the motion is incompetent to proceed,” she asserted, ignoring the confusion she sensed from the assembly, “on the basis that it is factually inaccurate. The provisions for–”

  “Inaccurate?” Anaeluin grinned as he indulged her. “Would you please explain?”

  Never would she let her history be abridged. “The dragon Parthenos did not attack the Eastern Vale — she did not come here intent on murder. She had been wounded by an encounter with another dragon, then assaulted while resting, and was unable to keep flying when–”

  “Saphienne.” His tone was superior but charitable. “Did you – or did you not – place yourself in danger to save young Thessa here, along with the other children?”

  “Yes, but–”

  “And in doing so,” he carried on, “did a dragon try to end your life?”

  Saphienne blinked. “Well, that’s not–”

  “Yes or no?”

  She wavered for a long moment. “…Yes…”

  “Then as endearing as your humility is,” he announced, to fond chuckles, “you belong to the Eastern Vale, therefore the motion is substantively true — and your point of order is overruled.”

  Disbelieving though she was, Saphienne couldn’t help but feel that the gods were mocking her.

  * * *

  There could be no opposing the unanimous adoption of the motion, and once the ecstatic assent died away she listened with growing disquiet to her rewards. She was to receive priority from the storehouses for a century; gifts of appreciation from everyone in the eastern woodlands; and a grand home was to be grown for her, befitting her heroism. Furthermore, works of art commemorating her deed were to be commissioned in every medium, with a statue to be erected upon the island where–

  Saphienne had heard enough. “Point of order.”

  “Again?” Less graciously than before, Anaeluin nonetheless took his responsibilities under the rules seriously. “The chair recognises Saphienne of the Eastern Vale.”

  “May it please our consensus to know: I decline these rewards.”

  Befuddled silence greeted her refusal.

  Helaen spoke up as assistant chair. “…You decline them?”

  “Under the consensus of the woodlands,” Saphienne declared, confident in what she’d read when she’d understudied Filaurel, “I cannot be compelled to make use of rights afforded to me, take possession of personal property that is not already mine, or surrender myself to sit for artists. There is no provision that permits this: I am neither party to a property dispute nor accused of any wrongdoing, and public safety does not depend upon my acceptance.” She clasped her hands. “Therefore, with respect for our consensus: I decline these rewards.”

  Whispers spread, the elders unsure what to make of her.

  The chair called for silence. “Saphienne! Child. You should be grateful that–”

  Another hand shot up, atop a cerulean sleeve. “Point of order!”

  Wary now, Anaeluin was subdued as he acknowledged the new speaker. “The chair recognises the esteemed representative of the Luminary Vale…?”

  Almon pointedly joined Saphienne in front of the stage before he addressed the meeting. “Speaking for the Luminary Vale – which has accepted Master Saphienne’s application, for all that she has not yet been admitted – I must remind and require our consensus to address her with the full title, respect, and dignity she has earned through her accomplishment with the Great Art.”

  Anaeluin reluctantly bowed. “Sustained. My apologies, Master Saphienne: would you care to articulate why you are opposed to being rewarded?”

  Saphienne bowed back to him. “I neither need nor want priority from the storehouses; I find the notion of compelled gifts a contradiction; my existing accommodation is perfectly sufficient; and while I would never interfere with anyone’s right to practice their chosen art, I strongly object to additional monuments intruding upon the island, for fear of disrupting its natural beauty and displacing the wildlife.” As she straightened, she adopted a conciliatory tone. “My apologies, but I did what any elven magician ought do — no more. I believe receiving personal rewards for doing the right thing would set a poor example.”

  Anaeluin let the hall fall into disordered debate as he turned to Filaurel, who was trying very hard to smother her amusement.

  Almon leant closer. “…Careful, Saphienne…”

  “Thank you, Master Almon.”

  Rebuked, he let her be.

  Meanwhile, the chair waved the hall to calm. “Master Saphienne: accepting your objections as reasonable, might I inquire whether there is anything our consensus might offer that wouldn’t meet with your objection?”

  “To benefit myself? No.”

  Hums of understanding lifted the room; smiles broke out on the faces regarding her, and Anaeluin relaxed.

  “In your quite admirable modesty,” he hazarded, “would you perhaps be content to accept reward in a form that does not directly benefit you? Perhaps, you might take this as an opportunity to request assistance in aid of others?”

  A sudden intake of breath signalled Tolduin realising what she was up to.

  She let him sweat. “I can think of five ways that I could be of greater help to the woodlands, were I to have the support of our consensus. Would it please the chair for me to iterate them, beginning with the least significant?”

  By now implicitly conceding that Saphienne had her audience at a disadvantage, Anaeluin had no choice but to consent.

  “Most of what I would like to do,” Saphienne began, “requires the approval of the Luminary Vale.”

  At her side, Almon tensed.

  “I would stress that I am only seeking the support of our consensus in putting my proposals forward. No matter how my suggestions are received here today, the judgement of the Luminary Vale stands supreme over magical affairs.”

  He folded his arms, suspicious of what she was dragging him into.

  “First,” she revealed, “while I await admission to the Luminary Vale, I would like to devote my studies to learning about dragons — better to meet them, should any return to our woodlands.”

  Aware that the elders were expecting his commentary, the wizard cleared his throat. “…I think a letter of recommendation could be arranged; given your prestige, I don’t foresee that being declined.”

  “Second,” she went on, “concerns a creature in my care. There is a tame and friendly spider, named Minina, whom I subjected to experimentation as part of my application to join the Luminary Vale. She is intelligent and social, and through my efforts she has been transmuted to subsist on an entirely vegetarian diet. I must also stress that she is incapable of reproduction: she poses no risk to our stewardship of the forest.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Almon was nodding. “You want permission for the aberration to leave its enclosure?”

  “While she’s striking to the unfamiliar, she’s harmless, and I’m fond of her.”

  “A highly unorthodox request, but hardly impossible to grant.”

  “Third,” she smiled at him, “concerns a matter that has been known to the esteemed representative of the Luminary Vale for some time.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Years ago, Faylar of the Eastern Vale applied to apprentice under Master Almon…” She held up her hand to forestall his defensiveness. “…And my old friend was correct to reject that application! His judgement was that the boy lacked the character necessary to study wizardry, and my experience has led me to concur with his appraisal.”

  “…But?”

  “Faylar is no longer the boy he was.” She inclined her head. “It is my dispassionate belief that he is wiser and better suited in temperament now than then, and so I would ask – as a favour – that his application be reconsidered. If he remains unsuited to the pursuit of the Great Art, I will abide by the reaffirmed decision of my old friend.”

  Despite his dislike of being pressured by her in public, Almon found humour in his self-inflicted blunder. “…I have been known to miss what children try to show me…”

  “Fourth,” she moved on, “concerns an arrangement previously instituted by the Luminary Vale, sadly curtailed by the departure of–”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  His interjection earned the curiosity of their audience; Saphienne took the opportunity to bow low. “Master Almon, your young friend Master Taerelle previously supported your superlative pedagogy as my tutor. My feeling is that Apprentices Celaena and Iolas have been discouraged in their pursuit of the Great Art by comparisons to myself; and so,” she said as she dipped even lower, “should my petition meet with your favour, I would like to redress this disadvantage — by tutoring them.”

  Almon’s cheer boiled away against his anger at being placed in a winning check. “…You’ve put significant thought into how to approach the subject, Master Saphienne. Should the Luminary Vale approve, I see no credible basis on which I might refuse you.”

  Her gambit was not merely to entrap the wizard, however. She remained bowed as she added, “Thank you for receiving my suggestions with such patience, and for engaging with them so reasonably. Truly, I am honoured to be taken seriously by an esteemed member of the Luminary Vale — especially one so respected by the discerning elders of our consensus.”

  From the corner of her eye, she observed Tolduin glaring.

  Anaeluin coughed. “Master Saphienne… were the proposed motion to be amended in endorsement of these submissions, I anticipate that our consensus would be unsatisfied by such a small gesture. Does your final suggestion fall within the direct power of our consensus to grant?”

  She stood tall as she faced the crowd. “It does. I would like to visit–”

  Tolduin was on his feet. “Point of order! This matter impinges upon–”

  “Master Tolduin!” Saphienne feigned incredulity. “Are you not a member of the Luminary Vale? Are you not obliged to uphold the decorum it has insisted upon — and that this meeting has accepted? By what authority do you interrupt a fellow master before she has finished? Through what presumption do you address our consensus without invitation from our Chair?”

  Unease was thick in the air, all heads turned in askance to Tolduin.

  He bowed. “…Alack, my apologies. I intervene but for the sake of a patient in the succour of Our Lady of the Basking Serpent.”

  Saphienne raised her hand, emphatically waiting to be called upon.

  Poor Anaeluin understood by their expressions that what had been an unconventional session was about to become acrimonious. “…Master Saphienne, in the interests of maintaining harmony within the hall: might a short recess be fruitful?”

  She thought then of her mother: miserable in her family home, terrified of leaving, dulled by wine and fascinations, come alive at her visitation.

  And Saphienne remembered who – and what – she would see herself become.

  “…No.” Let her become a dragon. “No, I’m sorry to say that this matter requires consideration by our consensus.” Let her raise her cause up high. “I believe this should be settled without further delay — and that it ought be settled quickly.”

  Let her arise, and fight.

  * * *

  For all that Saphienne had been granted the rare honour of intervening, under the consensus of the woodlands she was still a child, and so had no standing to participate in meetings, let alone those restricted to elders. Her leverage derived solely from the staggering esteem in which she was presently held, supplemented by the dignity owed to wizards and sorcerers. She therefore had to balance contradictory postures, playing upon their indulgence for her precociousness while wielding her temporary political relevance, and do so without causing lasting offence.

  Yet she was prepared to make enemies, if she must.

  Seniority obliged the chair to let the elder raise his objection in full before considering whether to hear her rejoinder. Tolduin was therefore invited to explain, and he took the floor with the assurance of a man who had lived more than fifty times as long as his opponent.

  Saphienne whispered to Almon as the priest made ready. “Thank you for your support, but you may wish to retake your seat. Being seen to stand with me won’t win you many friends.”

  The wizard glowered at her, annoyed that she had imposed herself on his chosen art of teaching, yet resolved to maintain his position. “I see your purpose. For the sake of a principle I hold in common with you, proceed, but do so with caution: Tolduin’s reputation is untarnished.”

  Despite her erstwhile master’s many flaws, she would never forget his virtues.

  “Master Tolduin,” Anaeluin implored, “if you would be so good as to please keep your point of order concise, and delivered with reference to the rules of order…”

  Tolduin thanked the chair. “Under ‘The Rules of Order for Reaching Consensus’ and those provisions of ‘Addendums to the Rules of Order as Agreed by the Eastern Vale’ ratified by our shared consensus of the eastern woodlands, in sooth, I am loath to say that what young Saphienne intends raise is incompetent.” He accorded her a sympathetic glance — which she knew was not wholly insincere, yet still found infuriating. “The names of those receiving the grace of Our Lady of the Basking Serpent – together with the details of their care – are sensitive, and so prohibited from disclosure in meetings. Therefore, out of concern for the wellbeing of the faithful I attend upon, I must insist that this discussion proceed no further.”

  Saphienne counted to three, then lifted her hand. “Point of order.”

  Resigned to playing referee, Anaeluin accepted. “Subject to the same request, the chair recognises Master Saphienne.”

  “Thank you.” She fixed her gaze on the assistant chair. “I believe the estimable Master Tolduin has inadvertently misstated the rules. My understanding is that the precise wording says information of that nature may not be disclosed in a general meeting, where attendance is unlimited. Before we proceed to substantiative debate, could the assistant chair please advise whether this is so, and could the secretary please confirm that this is an extraordinary meeting, with restricted attendance and minutes?”

  Tolduin was swift to concede. “Be it pleasing to our consensus, I beshrew my fault: Master Saphienne has the right of it.” His humility won goodwill from their listeners, which he immediately parlayed to his advantage. “Mindful of the kindness the rules and addendums exist to serve, I hereby invoke my prerogative as Master Saphienne’s elder to speak first — to lay before all why, at cost of erring, I hastened to interpose myself.”

  He’d been seen to give her grace; she had to reciprocate, and so bowed.

  His privilege upheld by the chair, Tolduin paced as he spoke. “All here know me well, and know well my chosen art: I am priest to Our Lady of the Basking Serpent by devotion, and healer to the sick by calling. By solemn vow, am I sworn to offer balm to the addled, and in honour of this promise I travel the eastern woodlands, for the maladies of thought, word, and deed evade commonly available remedy.”

  He gestured toward Saphienne. “Formidable though the intellect and attainment of our young master, skill with the Great Art alone is insufficient to mend the broken heart and fractured mind. Wisdom is required; not the wisdom of any one scholar, but the experience of generations, conserved most judiciously, added to with caution. In charity for Master Saphienne – and with a measure of self-recrimination – I must confess: even I did not fully appreciate my art, in the impatience of my youth.”

  His self-effacing framing of her as impertinent was met with chuckles.

  Yet he deftly pivoted to sombreness. “Who among us, across the long span of our lives well lived, has not experienced sorrows to rend the heart?” He surveyed his fellow elders in sadness. “Who here hath not been stricken by wounds that time alone may healeth?”

  The levity he’d conjured had dispersed; he continued with a gravity befitting the poignance he now evoked. “In the warmth of the sun’s embrace we are blessed to forget all aches and pains. Slow is the mercy we are granted… and how much slower we heal, when our wounds not yet knitted are reopened by memory’s sting. Against the rub regrets impose, none can contend, and so what would pain us in the present must be left in the past; we who live forever must live for tomorrow.”

  He interlinked his fingers, invoking the faith he shared with those he addressed. “And how are we to live? We must trust the mercy of the gods — we must trust, that Their grace will restore to us our joy. There is comfort in that promise; and it is a mercy of another kind, that no child understands this.”

  Tolduin dropped his hands to his side, bowing shallowly to Saphienne. “I am sorry, young master, but what you desire would do harm to the one whom we both care for. I must therefore raise two further points of order — to remind the chair that Master Saphienne lacks standing to bring business before our consensus, and to object that we have strayed beyond the agenda agreed for this meeting.”

  As the chair thanked Tolduin for his contribution, Saphienne reflected on the supremacy from which he opposed her. His skills of persuasion were well-honed by his millennium; his bonds of belonging with the people he appealed to were deeper than she could ever enjoy; and his practiced hand wielded the weight of tradition as a cudgel. No matter how she might plead or argue her cause, through these means he held sway over the room — and the condescending commiseration of his smile for her proclaimed he thought she was beaten.

  But Tolduin was no dragonslayer.

  Saphienne ignored her physical discomfort as she impelled herself to clap. “Beautifully put, Master Tolduin! Forsooth, thou speakest with tongue most honeyed — for deftly dost thou obscure what passeth unspoken. Applaud, I must, how well and readily thou bestowest a seeming comely upon what the fair would beshrew as foul.”

  Her mockery elicited gasps.

  She ceased clapping, plunged on in the stunned quiet before the storm. “I concede your points of order. You’re quite right: I have no standing to bring a matter before the consensus; nor does the one in your care have standing; nor do they have anyone with standing who might intercede on their behalf — just as my only relative in the Eastern Vale cannot on my behalf. How fortunate for you, that there is no one willing to propose an amendment to the agenda… and how unfortunate for justice.”

  Outwardly unflappable, Saphienne could tell Tolduin seethed at her effrontery.

  Anaeluin rose to forestall an uproar. “That is enough! You verge on accusing Master Tolduin of impropriety–”

  “However could I?” Saphienne was serene in her withering sarcasm. “I lack the standing to make any such complaint — Master Tolduin is quite beyond my reproach. I’m patently just a child throwing a tantrum against her betters.”

  Now the assembled elders were goaded into fury; Tolduin read their scowls, and he directed his comment to the chair. “Master Saphienne is quite right! If it pleases our consensus, I move that she be censured for her disrespect.”

  Someone in his congregation promptly seconded his motion–

  And she had him. “Please do.”

  There, Tolduin frowned.

  Saphienne advanced toward the stage. “If it pleases our consensus, by all means: formally censure me for my disrespect toward Master Tolduin. Let my admonition be announced to the vale, and let the secretary record the cause in the minutes.”

  Perceiving the outline of her scheme, yet oblivious to how it could unfold, the priest derided her with a shake of his head. “Mischaracterise your insolence however you like, child, but no one will heed your sore prattle — and the minutes are not available for public scrutiny.”

  “Alack!” She theatrically wilted as she retreated behind her seat of honour. “Everyone outside will be so curious about what happened in here. Without an account from a credible, impartial source, endorsed by our consensus, I suppose they’ll just have to content themselves with whatever sanitised details this meeting approves…”

  Saphienne placed her hand on the back of the other chair — where sat Thessa.

  Consternation enshrouded Tolduin as he stared at her friend, her witness to the injustice of her dismissal, the overlooked child on whom he himself had placed high accolade only a short while ago.

  Her gaze was hard. “I urge the chair to proceed: call a vote on the motion.”

  Anaeluin had no comprehension of what Saphienne wanted to force into the light, but he was astute enough to read Tolduin and hesitate. “Master Saphienne, if you would be willing to apologise–”

  “No.” She crossed her arms. “I think not. Our consensus is entitled to decide whether what I said was meritless, or whether my words had substance.”

  Many of the elders were confused, for they were not politically inclined. Saphienne watched them quietly inquiring with their shrewder neighbours, questioning why there was reluctance to censure her — to no reply. Judging by the greyness in Tolduin’s face, the savvier observers had comprehended that he was entrapped.

  She grinned as they trailed her logic to its conclusion.

  Were Saphienne censured, the reason why would be sought by those whom the elders supposedly represented; Thessa would relay that Saphienne had declined personal rewards, only asking that she be allowed to help others; then the artist would relay how the hero of the five vales had been prevented from articulating an injustice, something so terrible that she was prepared to suffer sanction to draw attention to it.

  And the man who’d restrained her? She’d intimated that Tolduin was behind it.

  Popular outrage at her treatment would be uncontainable.

  On the other hand, Saphienne had correctly surmised that not all elders present grasped the precarious reality of their prerogative. If the meeting didn’t punish her, then – absent a reason the na?ve could accept – that would suggest there was an impropriety playing out in the Eastern Vale, one that the visiting elders ought to examine.

  All of this was being weighed by the chair and assistant chair, who were wordlessly and rapidly agreeing that whatever complaint Saphienne had against Tolduin, either it was aired and resolved now, or public discontent would see it revisited — undermining elder authority.

  Tolduin tried to squirm free. “If it pleases our consensus, I withdraw my motion–”

  “Point of order.” Saphienne wouldn’t let him. “The assistant chair will confirm that duly proposed and seconded motions belong to the consensus, not their proposer. The chair must put competent motions to a vote.”

  Helaen tried to save him. “Master Saphienne is correct… however, if no one is prepared to move a motion, it becomes incompetent to proceed.”

  Ah, but Saphienne had a willing adversary.

  “I’ll move the motion,” declared Almon. “Master Saphienne’s diatribe is entirely unbecoming, and worthy of censure.”

  Tolduin’s ire for the wizard was palpable. “Are you sure that is wise, Master Almon?”

  “Since the festival of five years ago,” her old nemesis mildly replied, “Master Gaelyn and I have had an occasion to ponder together over the reasons for Master Saphienne’s confrontational disposition. Based on that shared understanding, I think I’d be remiss not to insist on accountability for her.”

  * * *

  After the vote failed, a bewildered participant from outside the Eastern Vale queried what was going on — wondering whatever could have aroused such scathing aspersions from Saphienne. Another put forward an amendment to the agenda, suspending all other items until she could be questioned about what she’d alluded to.

  Tolduin sat rigid as Anaeluin invited Saphienne to answer.

  Here, I shall relate her words in full.

  * * *

  Esteemed elders of our consensus… I am aware that many of you visiting our village do not know me apart from my accomplishments. Please allow me to me clarify my personal circumstances to you.

  My mother, Lynnariel of the Eastern Vale, is approximately sixty-seven years old.

  Your shock is warranted. By rights, I should never have been born.

  My mother was an orphan of unknown parentage, fostered by humans and brought to the woodlands when she was only eight; she was traumatised by her removal from the life she knew. So great was her distress that she was given into the care of Our Lady of the Basking Serpent, and to Master Tolduin, who serves as her – and my – priest.

  I do not wish to, but I must share details of her condition. My mother lives in irrational, perpetual fear that she will be torn away from her home for a second time. She dwells alone, struggles to leave the house, spending her days drinking wine and losing herself in the fantasies of a fascinator. She has no friends to speak of, no visitors other than Master Tolduin, and she cannot look after herself. When I last saw her, over a year ago, she was malnourished, had not bathed in some time, and the house was filthy.

  My mother has never walked with a spirit, for she is not well enough to do so. Master Tolduin did not anticipate that she would find a lover, and made no alternative arrangements to ward her against pregnancy. When she conceived, she begged that she be allowed to keep me — and Master Tolduin correctly judged that losing me would be too much to bear.

  Admirably, he resolved that I should have a normal childhood. For my sake, my mother was made to pretend at adulthood; that is part of the reason she has a house to herself despite her youth. I was raised by her during my earliest years, and she did the best she could to give me a happy home.

  …Do not think I don’t love her, when I tell you that she was not fit to be a mother.

  I was supremely fortunate to benefit from the guidance of others in the Eastern Vale, some of whom are in this room today. Their efforts were nearly undone, however. Five years ago, I was attacked during the solstice festival–

  Yes, that was me.

  I was assaulted, badly beaten, and left to die. I do not remember crawling back to our house, where I collapsed outside my mother’s bedroom. She was drunk at the time, and did not hear me, nor was she the one to find me. My life nearly ended.

  Recognising that it was untenable for me to continue to live with her, I was removed from my family home and instructed not to visit her. My mother was devastated; while I have flourished in pursuit of my chosen art, my mother has withered into a shell of her former self.

  Upon my eighteenth birthday, I went to see her. I brought her gifts. On discovering her deplorable condition, I cleaned the house, had her bathe and dress, then fed her. We talked together, and the longer we spoke, the happier she was… and the gladder I was, to have grown capable of a better relationship with her.

  Master Tolduin arrived, and insisted that I leave. He has barred me from visiting her–

  Yes. I am not permitted to see my own mother.

  I expect Master Tolduin will say I have become a tributary to the ocean of my mother’s grief, and that after my visits she would only succumb to greater despair at her failure to nurture me. He has been taught that time alone mends a broken spirit. In his experience, she must first let her pain wither, and thereby find the will to build a life for herself; he believes she must learn to be whole in and by herself, rather than missing others.

  Master Tolduin is wrong. He has been wrong, throughout, about what she requires to find her happiness in the woodlands. No matter how bright the day, a replanted flower cannot thrive on sunlight alone — she must be watered with care and attention.

  My mother should, and can, take pride in me. I would not– I would not be who I–

  …Please excuse me.

  All that I am, she brought forth.

  I wish to visit my mother freely. I wish to be part of her life. I wish to see that she is cared for in her recovery.

  Elders, I ask you: beyond Thessa and the other children, what was I defending, when I went out to meet the dragon? You who have lived it longer know it better than I, so answer for yourselves.

  And… in your wisdom, tell me this:

  Although there are wounds only time may heal, is our suffering not soothed by those whom we love?

  * * *

  Their deliberation was brief.

  Saphienne emerged from the meeting hall crowned with laurels, basking not in the waiting adulation, but in victory. She didn’t have to accept suffering — she was what she made of the world.

  And the world would be what it made of her.

  End of Chapter 114

  Can't wait to see where this goes?

  Chapter 115 releases Wednesday the 18th of February 2026.

  Thanks for reading!